In Love With the Shape of You
by poetzproblem
Summary: Rachel has seen that look before. On many, many occasions since Quinn hit her second trimester. That look is decidedly hungry—and not for the French toast that Rachel is absolutely, positively not going to burn. Number 34 in the Don't Blink series.


**Author's Note:** Occurs between the ficlets _Happiness Unbroken_ and _An Angel Growing Peacefully._ Warning for pregnancy smut.

As always, thanks and cyber-hugs to Skywarrior108 for being an awesome beta.

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Glee or the characters. I just like to play with them…strictly non-profit.

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 **In Love With the Shape of You**

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 _I'm in love with the shape of you  
We push and pull like a magnet do  
Although my heart is falling too  
I'm in love with your body  
~Shape of You, Ed Sheeran_

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Twenty-two weeks.

That's how far along Quinn's pregnancy is according to the medical field at large—just over the halfway mark. In reality, their baby girl was conceived just twenty weeks ago, and Quinn has only been physically pregnant with her for nineteen. In vitro fertilization really is a strange and miraculous thing.

Rachel had never really thought much about the timing of everything when Quinn had been pregnant with Beth so many years ago. Why would she? It hadn't really concerned her apart from the pity she'd felt for Quinn (and Finn) at the time and her own selfish designs on how to use the information for her own gain—namely how to gain _Finn_. Rachel isn't exactly proud of the choices she'd made during that period of her life.

But now, every little detail of Quinn's pregnancy concerns her, and she's obsessively marking every single milestone in their baby's development from week to week. She even has her very own dog-eared copy of _What to Expect When You're Expecting_ —for some reason, Quinn had purchased a second one to keep for herself after Rachel started highlighting blocks of text, scribbling notes in the margins, and marking important pages with post-it notes—that she's zealously rereading at the start of each new week.

This week, their daughter is developing her sense of touch, and she's grown enough to weigh a whole pound and be about eleven inches long. Rachel puts absolutely no stock in Quinn's laughing claim that she won't quite be that big yet because she probably takes after Rachel.

Last week, their baby had started developing her taste buds, which means that Rachel really needs to redouble her efforts to keep Quinn away from the bacon (and all the other dead animal flesh that she keeps craving) to protect their daughter's delicate palate. Rachel thinks her little girl will agree, and she can probably let them know all about her opinions now because she's started to move around enough that Rachel is able to really _feel_ her. All Rachel wants to do is lie here forever with her palm pressed against the warm, taut skin of her wife's growing belly while their daughter turns soft somersaults beneath her hand.

Rachel is so in love with the both of them that she can barely contain it inside of her body. She wants to sing out her feelings; dance down the middle of Broadway; skip barefoot through the park; climb up onto the roof of their building and shout out her love to the stars and moon and sun.

Unable to do any of those things in this particular moment, Rachel merely snuggles closer to her sleeping wife, glad that Quinn is managing to get some rest despite their daughter's wakeful state. The last nine days have been a little exhausting for both of them thanks to Judy Fabray's extended visit.

Judy is—well, she's actually being really good about everything. She truly does seem like she wants to be an actively supportive grandmother with this baby, and Rachel is incredibly relieved about that for Quinn's sake. There'd been a tense moment right after Quinn had relayed to her mother exactly _how_ they'd conceived their baby when Rachel had worried that things could potentially get a little chilly between them again. She hadn't missed the flash of disappointment on Judy's face at the realization that the baby Quinn is carrying is biologically Rachel's, but to her credit, she'd swallowed any objections she might have had and smiled her way through it. Rachel knows that Quinn picked up on that little moment of hesitation as well, but she claims that she can understand her mother's initial confusion about their unconventional methods and is choosing to leave it at that.

And Quinn really had enjoyed having her mother come to visit. Judy had insisted on taking care of most of the cooking while she was here—Quinn's possessiveness over her kitchen is just a little bit less vigilant since she's been pregnant—and she really is an amazing cook. She'd even put herself in charge of an impromptu dinner party last Monday, during which Rachel and Quinn had excitedly announced their baby's gender to Rachel's dads and several of their closest friends. Judy had already been informed of that particular news before anyone else since she'd had to find out about the pregnancy over a video chat, and her happy reaction to discovering she'd be welcoming a(nother) granddaughter surely seemed genuine.

And, of course, Quinn and Judy were able to do some mother-daughter baby shopping during her stay, thankfully not completely buying out any stores, and Rachel and Quinn now have a small supply of onesies and bibs and reusable diapers (at Rachel's request) ready for the day they'll finally be able bring their daughter home.

Judy had arrived safely back in Chicago after boarding the plane yesterday afternoon, so they finally— _finally!_ —have their apartment to themselves again, but she's already planning to come back well before Quinn's due date in August, if not sooner. Rachel is more certain than ever that they'll need to find a bigger apartment sooner rather than later. Trying to move while Quinn is still pregnant will undoubtedly be a major headache but probably slightly less so than trying to move with a newborn in tow. In any case, Rachel is already planning to beg, bribe, and guilt _all_ of their friends (and their friends' significant others) into helping them out, so it should actually go more smoothly than it had the last time—once she and Quinn find a suitable apartment, that is. There are a few very promising listings right now that Rachel intends to look into further.

Feeling too wound up to go back to sleep but unwilling to wake Quinn, Rachel reluctantly pulls her hand away from Quinn's belly before slowly and stealthily slipping out of their bed. Quinn shifts a little on the mattress, causing Rachel to pause, breath held in anticipation of potentially waking her wife, but Quinn only burrows deeper into her pillow with a soft snore and keeps on sleeping. Rachel exhales quietly, smiling tenderly at the sight, before she quickly grabs the first pair of shorts she finds in the drawer and a fresh t-shirt.

She closes the bedroom door behind her with a quiet click, hushing Oliver's excited mewls as she pads to the bathroom. She allows him to come in with her to keep him from scratching at the bedroom door and waking up Quinn, and she only has to shoo him out of the sink three times while she attempts to brush her teeth and wash her face.

Letting the water run a few extra minutes for Oliver to indulge in his joy of drinking straight from the faucet, Rachel pulls on the pair of red shorts she'd grabbed and tugs the t-shirt—the one with the _Funny Girl_ logo _—_ over hear head before attempting to drag a brush through her tangled curls. If anything, they only get more unruly, so she gives up with a sigh, turns off the sink, and relocates Oliver back to the floor, giving him an apologetic scratch behind his ears before she fishes around in the cabinet for a stray hair-tie. After finding one with a quiet grunt of triumph, she pulls her hair back into a ponytail.

 _This is as good as it's getting this morning_ , she decides. It's Monday, she doesn't have any shows today, and there are no houseguests roaming around the apartment to impress, so there's no real reason for Rachel to fuss with her appearance. Quinn has already seen her looking much worse than this and she's still here.

Smiling, Rachel makes her way to the kitchen with a chirping Oliver in tow, chuckling lightly as she dodges and weaves to avoid tripping over him—though she really needs to make sure he settles down before Quinn wakes up. She worries about him doing this to her wife, especially when she won't really be able to see him under her feet in the coming weeks.

She's not going to say that out loud to Quinn, of course. She seems much less grumpy about her expanding waistline than she was as a teen, but she'd still broken down in tears the day her favorite pants had no longer buttoned, and she looks so forlorn every time she has to put away another top that no longer fits. There are moments when Rachel can see Quinn's insecurities about her pregnant body shining in her eyes, and she takes her job to erase each and every one of those insecurities very seriously.

Quinn is still the prettiest girl that Rachel has ever met—and _so_ much more than that. She's the mother of her child, her partner, her other half, and she takes Rachel's breath away every single day.

Once Oliver is satisfied that there's an adequate amount of food in his bowl, Rachel turns her attention to preparing breakfast for her and Quinn. She puts on the coffee—so grateful that Quinn is finally past the point of getting sick from the smell—though Rachel has to settle for decaffeinated in case Quinn wants to indulge in a cup. It isn't quite what either of them prefers, but what's best for baby is best for all of them.

Since Quinn's appetite finally seems to be back on track, Rachel decides to try her hand at French toast this morning, so she (quietly) rummages around Quinn's ridiculous collection of cookware for that double-burner, non-stick, griddle thing-y that Quinn told her to use. Really—she lightly singes one little skillet and she never hears the end of it! After finally finding the griddle and successfully liberating it from beneath a pile of pans without causing too much of a ruckus, Rachel sets it over the burners before retrieving the ingredients that she needs. She opts to use eggs because, as much as she still loves Quinn recipe for vegan French toast despite no longer adhering to a strict vegan lifestyle, the traditional version is just easier for Rachel to make. She's a much better cook than she used to be, but she'll never be as good as Quinn (or Judy), and frankly, she just wants to make sure her meager culinary attempts are actually edible.

Rachel opens up the sugar bowl—she likes to add a pinch to the batter the way she's watched Quinn do so many times for that extra little kick of sweetness—and finds it almost empty. With a sigh, she opens the cupboard and reaches up for the new bag of sugar, tugging it down with a soft grunt. Before she can set it on the counter to tear into it, her eyes catch the printing on the label that declares its one pound weight, and she pauses with it in still in her hands as a trembling smile pulls at her lips. This is about what their daughter weighs right now (and probably about how long she is too) and before Rachel fully realizes what she's doing, she's standing there in the kitchen with a sugar bag cradled in her arms like a baby, staring down at it through teary eyes. If anyone but Quinn were to see her right now, they'd think she's crazy. With a chuckle, Rachel considers that even _Quinn_ might think she's a little bit crazy, so she shakes her head and sets the bag down on the counter, pausing to dry her eyes with the pads of her fingers before she returns to her task—silently apologizing to her pretend sugar-baby for ripping it open.

Once the egg batter is mixed, Rachel dips the bread into it one piece at a time before carefully placing them on the hot griddle. She watches them like a hawk as they sizzle, already armed with a spatula to flip them at the first sign of them being sufficiently toasted.

She hears the bedroom door open and the bathroom door close, and she smiles softly, a little impressed that Quinn managed to get through most of the night without making multiple trips to satisfy the call of nature. Then again, Rachel _had_ been pretty exhausted when she'd gotten home from her second show last night, so it's possible that she'd slept right through any restlessness Quinn might have experienced.

The sound of running water precedes the opening of the door, and Rachel pokes her head around the corner of the kitchen to greet her wife with a smile. "Good morning, baby. And baby," she adds with a cheeky grin, watching a still sleepy Quinn pad toward her.

It really is unfair just how gorgeous her wife looks, even rumpled in the wrinkled sleepshirt that clings to her belly. Her hair is cut a bit shorter again in anticipation of the approaching summer (and a little darker with the lack of chemical highlights), but it's thick and shiny and sexy as hell in its bed-tousled state. It's so incredibly cliché, but Quinn honestly does glow—well, now that her complexion is no longer sickly pale from the repeated bouts of nausea—and Rachel finds her more and more beautiful every day.

"Morning," Quinn echoes with a voice still raspy from sleep. "Is that our breakfast burning?" she asks warily.

Rachel's smile instantly disappears and she dives back into the kitchen to see one side of the griddle smoking a little. "Damn it," she grumbles, turning down the heat on the burner while she hurriedly flips the pieces of toast over, relieved to see that only the first piece is looking a little blackened. And okay—the second piece might be a little darker than she'd prefer, but the other ones are still golden brown and on their way to being perfectly toasted as long as she keeps the heat low and doesn't take her eyes off of them again.

"Don't worry," she calls back over her shoulder. "Breakfast is perfectly fine." She'll just keep those scorched pieces for herself.

For a moment, Quinn doesn't answer, and Rachel almost thinks her wife might have curled up on the sofa to avoid facing any potential kitchen disasters, content to let Rachel finish cooking for them. But then she hears a gruff, "Turn off the burner, Rachel," from behind her.

Rachel frowns at the command. "But it's almost ready," she argues stubbornly. Really, she's not going to burn it any more than she already has—and to be fair, it's kind of Quinn's fault that Rachel had been distracted at exactly the wrong moment in the first place.

The ensuing, "Rach," is half-plea and half-groan, and Rachel immediately breaks her silent vow to watch over their breakfast in order to glance back at her wife, suddenly worried that maybe the combined scents of the slightly singed toast and the coffee might be triggering some weird second trimester relapse of Quinn's morning sickness or, God forbid, that she might be in some kind of pain.

"Quinn, baby, are you," is out of Rachel's mouth before she notices the way the corner of Quinn's lower lip is caught between her teeth and her dark, heavy-lidded gaze is zeroed in somewhere in the vicinity of Rachel's ass, and the finishing, "okay," becomes much less of a question and more of a realization. Rachel has seen that look before. On many, many occasions since Quinn hit her second trimester.

That look is decidedly hungry—and not for the French toast that Rachel is absolutely, positively not going to burn.

Rachel blindly feels for the knob on the stove and twists it into the off position even as she turns to fully face her wife. She has a strong suspicion where this is going, and it's best to be prepared.

"Where did you find those shorts?" Quinn asks a little breathlessly, one hand resting over the swell of her belly while the other twists into the hem of her sleepshirt.

Rachel glances down at the wardrobe item in question, spatula still in one hand. "Um…they were in the drawer." She really hadn't been paying attention when she'd grabbed them, but now that she looks at them again, she realizes they're one of her older pairs—ones she's probably had since high school and held onto for housework or future gardening ventures in her as-yet-nonexistent garden. They must have ended up mixed in with her more frequently used loungewear when Rachel had moved some of her clothes around after Quinn's little cleaning jag earlier this month. "I think they might be an old pair of gym shorts," she guesses, thinking they look like ones the McKinley architects of physical education torture used to make them purchase.

The hand fisted in Quinn's shirt pulls the material even tighter across her belly and breasts, hugging every curve for Rachel to see—enough for her to see the clear outline of Quinn's nipples and know that her wife is unmistakably aroused.

"They're…really short," Quinn murmurs distractedly, running the tip of her tongue over her lips while her eyes remain steadfastly glued to Rachel's lower half.

Rachel supposes she could act demure and make her best attempt to divert Quinn's attention to less provocative matters, but why in Barbra's name would she ever want to do _that_? So she reaches down to tug on one leg of her shorts before sliding her fingers over her upper thigh where the material meets her skin, grinning as she watches Quinn suck in a quick, shallow breath at the action. "Well, it is kind of…hot…already this morning."

Quinn moans, eyelids fluttering closed. "It's been almost a week," she husks, taking a step forward.

Rachel scrapes her teeth across her own lip as she gazes at her wife, feeling just a little hotter than she had while she'd been working over the stove. "I'm aware."

Having Judy in their apartment, so close to their bedroom, had slammed the brakes hard on Quinn's otherwise invigorated libido. They'd managed to sneak in one quick coupling last Tuesday morning when Judy had gone out for a morning stroll, but despite all of their boastful talk to the contrary, when it came time for action, neither one of them had had the courage to _actually_ have sex with Judy only a thin wall away from them. Unfortunately for them, they really haven't learned how to be any less vocal in the bedroom over the years.

And they'd both been too tired last night once Judy was safely back in Chicago.

And—

"You weren't there when I woke up," Quinn accuses mildly, taking another step closer. Her hazel eyes have grown even darker as they dance over Rachel's body, finally coming to rest on her lips.

"I…wanted to make you breakfast," Rachel practically whispers.

Quinn's mouth curves into a wicked grin as she reaches out to take the spatula out of Rachel's hand, setting it aside on the counter as she leans even closer. "I want _you_ for breakfast."

"Quinn, baby, you really should…" The end of her sentence disappears into a heated kiss as Quinn effectively silences the weak protest that she really should have a more substantial source of nutrition first, especially if she's planning a vigorous workout—and it very much appears that she is.

Quinn presses Rachel back into the stove as she devours her mouth, aligning their bodies as closely as she can with the swell of her belly between them. She's not quite big enough yet for it to be a huge obstacle, but her pregnancy is undeniably noticeable now, and it won't be long at all before getting closer might require some creativity. Rachel instinctively loops her arms around Quinn's shoulders, slipping one hand into the hair at the nape of her neck as she gives into her wife's silent demands. She can't even pretend that she doesn't want this every bit as much as Quinn.

Their sex life had taken a bit of a hit around the time they'd started trying to get pregnant. With the daily shots and the extra hormones flowing through their bodies, neither one of them had been much in the mood to be intimate very often, and that sad state had continued for Quinn through most of her first trimester with frequent bouts of nausea and the lingering exhaustion. But in the last six weeks or so, Quinn's interest in sex has come back with a vengeance—like, an almost daily, multiple-times-a-day vengeance. At times, Rachel is barely able to keep up, but she isn't exactly complaining. She's very happy to do her wifely duty.

Greedy hands travel over the curves of Rachel's body, undecided where to settle until they finally find the curve of her ass and squeeze. They both moan in pleasure at the sensation, forcing their mouths to part, and Quinn pants against Rachel's lips while her hips shift restlessly in a hopeless attempt to get closer. "I _need_ you," she almost whines. "God…I'm so…" She shakes her head helplessly, pupils blown out. "I just want to climb on top of you and fuck you right here," she admits gutturally.

If Rachel wasn't already aroused, she definitely would be now. There's just something about seeing Quinn so completely at the mercy of her own desire that _does_ things to her. It makes her feel powerful—even if this particular occurrence is heavily influenced by baby hormones.

"Here…would not be the most comfortable place for that," Rachel teases, playing with the ends of Quinn's hair. The edge of the stove is digging into her lower back, and there are entirely too many breakable appliances and sharp objects in the kitchen to worry about. "We should probably relocate to the bedroom." She can finish cooking their breakfast later— _if_ Quinn ever lets her out of their bed again.

"Too far," Quinn protests with a firm shake of her head. "Table's right there," she suggests before catching Rachel's lower lip between her teeth and tugging gently.

Rachel moans again at the spike of heat that twists through her. They've certainly defiled that table in the past—the very recent past, in point of fact—but that was before Quinn had gotten bigger, and she can't imagine it would be very comfortable for her now. It's definitely not as stable as Rachel thinks it should be for engaging in vigorous, non-bedroom bedroom activities with her very pregnant wife.

"Sofa," she mumbles against Quinn's lips, hoping she'll accept the compromise.

Quinn lifts her head, gazing heatedly at Rachel. "Sofa," she repeats, releasing her grip on Rachel's ass only to drag her fingers up and around until they can curl into the material of Rachel's t-shirt, putting a choke-hold on Funny Girl. "Right now," she demands on a growl, tugging Rachel forward by her shirt as she takes several deliberate steps backward, effectively leading her in the direction of their living room.

It's really kind of sexy, but Rachel can't shake the unwanted visual of one of them tripping over something (like the chair or their cat) on the way to the sofa, so with a soft laugh, she slips her hands around Quinn's wrists to stop her. "Slow down, baby. We have all day."

Quinn puffs out a frustrated breath. "It doesn't feel like it," she admits unsteadily. "It feels like if I don't have you in the next two minutes, I might literally combust. I'm so… _hot_ …and so god damned _horny_ ," she laments with a trace of exasperation, "and all it took was seeing you in those ridiculously short shorts," she complains with a wry smile. "I don't understand how my body can go from zero to fuck me right now in the blink of an eye. And don't you dare say hormones," she warns quickly, tugging at Rachel's shirt in punctuation.

Rachel grins. "I was going to say it's because I'm irresistible." Although yeah—it's probably the hormones. Quinn's body is in baby-making mode, so there's extra blood flowing to all the important places, making some of those places extra sensitive. It's been a revelation to them both.

Rachel takes a step closer, brushing a kiss over Quinn's lips, and her smile widens at the soft moan she receives as she hovers there, breathing Quinn in. "And I have no objections to fucking you right now," she assures her wife huskily.

Quinn's moan is louder this time, and a shudder passes through her body as she clings even tighter to Rachel's shirt. "Oh, God. Can you? Please," she begs breathlessly.

Rachel reaches up to caress her wife's heated cheek. "Let me take of you, baby." And then she guides Quinn into another kiss—this one deeper and filled with the promise of what Rachel intends to do to ease Quinn's ache. She gently coaxes Quinn's fingers away from her poor, abused shirt, and slips her right hand into Quinn's left, giving it a squeeze as she eases their lips apart. "C'mon. Let's take this somewhere more comfortable."

"Okay," Quinn agrees with an eager nod, drawing her lower lip between her teeth in the most adorable way as she lets Rachel lead her the short distance into the living room—safely without anyone tripping.

They stop in front of the sofa, and apparently that's the limit of Quinn's patience, because she's tugging Rachel back into a desperate kiss even as she maneuvers them both down onto the cushions. Quinn can't seem to decide where she wants to put her hands, so they stay in constant motion between Rachel's legs and ass and breasts while she feasts on Rachel's mouth, suckling her tongue. Rachel moans in pleasure, feeling the sparks of her arousal catch her body on fire.

Before she's fully aware of what's happening, her shirt is somewhere across the room and her breasts are in Quinn's enthusiastic hands while Quinn valiantly attempts to straddle her thigh despite a less than ideal angle. They really hadn't ended up in the best position for this—sprawled a little sideways as they are—so Quinn's belly is getting in the way just enough to have her growling in frustration.

Rachel bites back a laugh, suspecting it wouldn't be received well in the moment, and urges Quinn back into a sitting position with a much softer kiss. "You're not letting me take care of you," she chastises gently, reaching behind Quinn for the throw pillows that are artfully arranged at the corner of the sofa.

"When you say _take care of_ , you _do_ mean _fuck_ , right?" Quinn verifies grumpily. "Because I'm not in the mood to be coddled right now, Rach."

Rachel arches an eyebrow at her. "I'm a very talented multitasker," she reminds her wife haughtily. "I can do _both_. Now skootch forward a little," she directs, patting Quinn's thigh. Quinn stares at her suspiciously but follows her instructions, sitting forward on the sofa with both feet on the floor, and Rachel rewards her with a kiss as she tucks the pillows behind her wife's lower back to give her extra support.

Quinn hums in vague approval, attempting to deepen the kiss, but Rachel leans back before Quinn can try to take control again. She ignores Quinn's growl of protest and quickly curls her fingers into the edge of Quinn's sleepshirt to pull it up and over her head, grinning at the treasure she's uncovered. "Hello, gorgeous," she murmurs in appreciation.

There are times when Quinn will protest—those times when her insecurities rear their ugly heads—but there are also moments like this when her lips curve beatifically and her breath hitches and her entire body flushes with pleasure, and Rachel suspects that she actually feels like the goddess she is.

And oh, she _so_ is. Rachel's eyes drink in the sight of her wife, bathed in the glow of desire. The changes in her body are so beautiful to behold. Her belly is firm and round with their growing daughter, and her breasts—sweet Barbra, her breasts! Rachel really loves those. She always has, but they've grown a cup size already, and the areolas have darkened, changing in preparation to nourish their baby. It's absolutely fascinating to Rachel how she can be so in awe of the miracle happening inside of Quinn at the same time she's so completely turned on by her sexy, pregnant body.

She'd worry that she might have a pregnancy kink if she wasn't fairly certain that her reaction is tied solely to Quinn.

Itching to touch, Rachel reaches out to gently cup the delightful weight of Quinn's breast in her hand even as she lowers her mouth to Quinn's lips. Quinn curls an arm around the back of her head, delving fingers into her bound hair and kissing her back with abandon. Rachel slowly moves her hand higher and begins to delicately trace the outer curve of Quinn's right breast with the pad of her finger, feeling Quinn's instant reaction through their kiss and the way her hips begin to shift against the sofa. When Rachel teases around her engorged nipple, Quinn practically comes off the sofa with a wanton moan, pressing her thighs together and twisting her fingers into Rachel's ponytail almost painfully as she gasps for breath. Rachel grins wickedly, loving how sensitive Quinn is now. She thinks she might even be able to make her come just like this, though she hasn't yet been permitted to test her theory.

"Rachel," Quinn growls, grabbing at her wrist with her free hand to still her wandering fingers. "I'm not fucking kidding about combusting. I need you to get me _off_ , not tease me into a desperate frenzy."

"Mmm. You seem pretty desperate already," Rachel notes, her grin growing smug.

"Desperate enough to take care of this myself if I need to," Quinn impatiently informs her, releasing her hold on Rachel so she can inch her hand down between her own legs. And _that_ would be the reason Rachel hasn't had the opportunity to focus her attention solely on Quinn's breasts. "Just…stand in front of me so I can look at you in those shorts," Quinn suggests, biting into her lip with barely suppressed need.

Well—that won't do at all. Not that watching Quinn touch herself isn't appealing in its own way, but Rachel would much rather be the one touching. With narrowed eyes, Rachel lightly rakes her fingers down Quinn's arm until she can circle her wrist and stop her ministrations. "No, we're not doing that."

Quinn groans, closing her eyes and squeezing her legs together again. "Rachel, please," she begs. "Do _something_."

"I _was_ doing something. I was doing _this_ ," Rachel reminds her impishly before catching her wife's lips in a hard, fast kiss that leaves her breathless. "And _this_ ," she continues, ghosting her fingers over Quinn's breast with just enough pressure to have Quinn's back arching again and a stuttering gasp expanding her lungs. "And I then I would have done _this_." She lowers her mouth to the other breast, swirling her tongue around the tempting bud of Quinn's nipple, earning a wanton moan and gyrating hips and frantic hands at the back of her head doing an expert job of loosening her ponytail.

"Still…not…where…I…need you," Quinn gasps out between moans and hisses, trying to guide Rachel lower.

Rachel smiles against Quinn's heaving breast. "I'm getting there," she promises, giving the nipple one last lick before she presses a much softer kiss to the swell of her belly, curving her palm to match the beautiful contour and checking to see if their daughter is awake. Rachel is never quite certain that she really wants her to be in these moments when her mamas are feeling frisky.

"Don't _stop_ ," Quinn hisses, giving Rachel's shoulder a weak shove. She's very obviously not in the mood for one of Rachel's more tender explorations

"I wasn't planning to," Rachel assures her, reaching over to toss the last throw pillow to the floor at Quinn's feet before she follows it down. The last few weeks have taught her that she'll have her chance to worship Quinn at a more leisurely pace once she's quenched her immediate desire.

"God, finally," Quinn sighs in relief, already lifting her hips to work her very cute pregnancy panties down. Rachel chuckles softly and quickly moves to help her, guiding the garment down over smooth, muscular calves and throwing it over her shoulder.

Quinn parts her legs eagerly, making more room for Rachel between them, so Rachel kneels in veneration before her very worked-up wife. "Oh, wow. You're dripping," she notices in wonder, drinking in the sight before her. Quinn's inner thighs are glistening with the evidence of her arousal, and she's so pink and swollen and _ready_.

Quinn barks out an exasperated laugh. "No shit. Now _do_ something about it," she demands, leaning forward just enough to cup the back of Rachel's head and urge her closer.

"You know, this wasn't the breakfast I'd planned on having," Rachel comments mischievously.

"Rachel! Stop talking and put your mouth on me," Quinn commands.

Rachel laughingly obeys her wife and leans in to nip Quinn's muscular thigh. The fingers against her scalp curl as Quinn moans throatily, shifting her hips against the cushion. "Mmm. Tasty," Rachel murmurs playfully before she flattens her tongue against the skin beneath her lips and licks a haphazard path dangerously close to Quinn's throbbing sex, tasting the moisture that coats the inside of her thighs.

"Fuck, yes," Quinn gasps, opening her legs even wider in an unmistakable invitation.

Breathing in the scent of Quinn's arousal, Rachel reaches up to tug her hips forward and position her right at the edge of the sofa cushion. Satisfied that she has her wife right where she wants her, Rachel settles back onto her haunches and gently parts Quinn's slick folds so she can taste the very essence of her wife.

The moment her tongue meets Quinn's swollen flesh, Quinn makes the most incredible sound. She doesn't have Rachel's range—that's true—but Rachel is still pretty impressed by the particular note she hits. Quinn twists her hand into Rachel's hair in an attempt to press her closer, and her legs wrap around Rachel in a vice-grip with her heels digging uncomfortably into Rachel's lower back.

Rachel shuts out the discomfort, focusing solely on her wife and her breath control. She's done her reading, after all, and she knows which sexual positions are best for every stage of pregnancy and which ones they should avoid. This particular endeavor is safe enough as long she's careful to avoid any strong, accidental exhales into Quinn's—well, _Quinn_. It's something about the trapped air possibly causing an embolism to form in pregnancy-enlarged blood vessels, and Rachel really doesn't want to find out if that's true.

But oh—it's hard to think at all with the taste of Quinn on her tongue. She really does love doing this, and she's gotten so much better at it over the years in her own humble opinion. She loves the heat and the texture and the wetness against her mouth and the reactions she coaxes from Quinn. And Quinn is already writhing under her attention, a string of the most beautiful obscenities falling from her lips with increasingly breathless incoherence while Rachel swirls her tongue over that wondrous little bundle of nerves in exactly the way that never fails to make Quinn come undone.

Rachel moans lightly as she presses her tongue deeper, loving the rush of wet heat that meets her and the way Quinn quivers around her. She gazes up at Quinn over the rise of her belly with dark eyes, marveling at the unique view and feeling herself growing even more aroused. The shorts that had apparently started this whole thing are short enough and tight enough to provide just enough friction to send a tiny jolt of pleasure through Rachel every time she moves.

She's not going to come like this, obviously, but she's going to make damned certain that Quinn will. She's already so close. Rachel can feel it building through every connection between their bodies, so she refocuses her tongue on the hard bud of Quinn's clit and slips two fingers into her heat, curling them against her inner walls, even as she slides her right hand up over sweat-slickened skin until she finds Quinn's breast, gently stroking the nipple in time with her tongue—because she really is an _excellent_ multitasker. It only takes a moment for Quinn's body to jerk hard against her, and then she's bowing forward with a tremulous breath.

"Oh, fuck…I'm gonna…"

The sentence never ends—or rather, it ends on a keening wail as Quinn arches back against the pillows and practically flies off the sofa, clenching hard around Rachel in every single place that their bodies touch. Rachel barely manages to detach her mouth and avoid suffocating—or sharply exhaling one of those accidental whooshes of air in the very wrong place—but she deftly replaces her tongue with her thumb to help Quinn ride out her orgasm.

And ride it out she does, shaking and shuddering and screaming Rachel's name in ecstasy. Rachel watches her shatter in wonder, enraptured with every expression that flows across her wife's beautiful face. She somehow manages to keep her thumb pressed to Quinn's clit, though she's barely moving it, as she rests her other hand on Quinn's hip to make sure she doesn't fall off the sofa. Eventually, Quinn begins to come back down. The death grip she has on Rachel relaxes and her trembling body melts into the pillows while she pants for breath, but then— _God_ , then her eyes are going wide and she's choking out a stunned, "Oh, my God," and her body is tensing and she's shuddering all over again.

"Oh, wow," Rachel breathes out in awe as she gently guides her wife through her second climax. The whole multiple orgasm thing isn't completely new to them, but it's not really the norm for them to happen this fast, and it's typically Rachel who's having them at Quinn's expert touch.

 _This is—kind of frickin' awesome_ , she thinks, grinning smugly when Quinn finally goes limp. Her hands slip to her sides and her legs release their death grip on Rachel's lower back and she'd probably slide right off the edge of the sofa if Rachel wasn't right there to keep that from happening.

Rachel carefully removes her fingers from Quinn's overly-sensitive flesh to the sound of a tiny whimper, and another faint tremor races over her body. Rachel's smile only grows when she sees how wet her fingers are and she slips them between her lips to savor one more taste as she gazes at Quinn spread out before her, thoroughly debauched. She licks her fingers clean and then runs a thumb across the corners of her mouth and along her lower lip to wipe away the moisture she can feel there before drying her hand on her shorts. Rising up on her knees, Rachel straightens from her hunched position and sighs in relief as her spine pops back into place.

"So…have you been fucked to your satisfaction?" she asks cheekily, reaching up to brush a lock of messy, dark-blonde hair away from Quinn's eyes.

A weak, "Mmmmn," is the only response she gets.

Rachel's smile goes from smug to uncertain, and she gently cups Quinn's cheek. "Quinn, baby? Did I break you?" She's mostly joking, but there's still a flutter of apprehension in her belly that she knows is one hundred percent pregnancy related.

Dazed hazel eyes appear slowly from behind fluttering eyelids, and pink lips curve into a drunken smile. "In the best way," Quinn rasps, still breathless.

And yeah—Rachel's smug smile is back in force. "It _was_ kind of awesome to watch," she confesses, trailing her hand across Quinn's jaw and down over her neck to trace the line of her clavicle. "I guess you really weren't kidding about the combusting thing."

Quinn laughs softly. "I _told_ you," she reminds Rachel, finding the strength to reach for Rachel's hand and tangling their fingers together over her pattering heart. "God…that was… _intense_." She laughs again. "I might need a few hours to recover."

"Take all the time you need," Rachel urges, ignoring the tiny twinge of disappointment that the ache between her own legs will simply have to go unsatisfied for the time being. She needs to be attentive to the mother of her child, after all, so if Quinn needs to rest, then Rachel will make sure she rests, though she can't fully resist the urge to lean into her wife's body and press a delicate kiss to the upper swell of her left breast.

"Don't start that again," Quinn whines, pushing feebly at Rachel's shoulder with her free hand. "You know how sensitive my boobs are right now."

Rachel grins. "I know," she says on a dreamy sigh of appreciation. "But I suppose I'll be a good wife and let you recover before I have my fun."

"What? Giving me the most intense orgasm of my life wasn't fun for you?" Quinn asks incredulously.

Rachel shrugs, still grinning. "Kind of."

"You loved it," Quinn argues knowingly, poking a finger into Rachel's side until she giggles.

"Okay. I did," she concedes, squirming away from Quinn's tickling fingers. "And I love _you_ ," she adds, pushing herself up to brush a tender kiss over Quinn's lips and giving a little squeeze to the hand still holding hers.

"I love you too, Rach," Quinn murmurs against her lips.

With a happy smile, Rachel untangles their fingers and drags herself the rest of the way up into a standing position, laughing a little when Quinn's body slips down further from the lack of extra support. "Can you manage to keep from sliding onto the floor? Or do I need to carry you to our bed?"

"Like you could even lift my pregnant ass off this sofa," Quinn rebuffs with a roll of her eyes, planting her palms on the cushions beside her and—with some minor struggle—pushing herself up into a more secure sitting position.

"I so could," Rachel insists, gazing lovingly at her wife. "You're not that big."

One blonde brow inches up. "Yet. Give it another month and I'll be a whale."

"Nope," Rachel disagrees, shaking her head. Despite Quinn's joking tone, Rachel can sense a hint of her insecurity seeping back in, and she's quick to nip it in the bud. "You'll be my stunning, pregnant wife whom I love and cherish with all my heart and soul and will joyfully worship with my body."

Quinn's lips twitch into an amused smile. "You've been practicing that in front of the mirror, haven't you?"

Rachel presses an open hand over her (very naked) breasts, affecting her best innocent expression. "Why would I need to practice telling the truth?"

Quinn's smile turns tender. "I really do love you."

Rachel smiles widely. "The feeling is very much mutual," she vows, bending down to claim a sweet kiss that Quinn happily returns. She keeps it chaste lest her own spurned arousal scream at her even more, so it's only a moment before their lips part with soft sigh.

"Why don't I finish making us breakfast while you regain your strength?" she asks, distractedly searching the room for her shirt—although she supposes it isn't a requirement that she be fully dressed in order to finish cooking. She certainly isn't in any hurry for Quinn to cover up her nakedness, especially since she's hoping that Quinn will be sufficiently reenergized for another round after breakfast—preferably one where Rachel gets to get off too.

Catching sight of her rumpled shirt on floor behind the sofa, Rachel takes a few steps in that direction when she hears a throaty, "Rachel. You're still wearing the shorts."

Rachel instantly pauses, glancing down at herself before turning to face Quinn with a cautious, "Yeah."

Hazel eyes are once again fastened on Rachel's lower half and long, pale fingers are curled tightly into the cushions. "And no top."

"You kind of threw it over there," Rachel explains gently, pointing behind the sofa.

Quinn puffs out a slow, shaky breath. "I think you need to come back over here."

Rachel's eyes widen in surprise. "Seriously?"

"Seriously," Quinn confirms with a sharp nod. "Right now."

"But you just…"

"I know," Quinn grits out, shifting restlessly on the sofa.

"But…breakfast," Rachel attempts half-heartedly, gesturing to the kitchen.

"Can wait," Quinn supplies, gazing up at Rachel with pleading eyes. "I don't think I can."

She's so obviously aroused again, though she looks more than a little embarrassed by the development. "It's going to be one of those days, isn't it?" Rachel realizes, biting into her lower lip as she considers Quinn's very speedy recovery. She wonders if they'll even manage to eat their breakfast at all before dinnertime.

Quinn frowns at her. "Is that going to be a problem for you?"

Rachel's lip escapes from her teeth with her grin. "I suppose I'll just have to power through it," she laments with a playful shrug, taking a step closer to her wife. Her banked arousal gives a hearty cheer.

"Yes. You will," Quinn informs her, already reaching for her impatiently. She slides her hands up over Rachel's legs the moment she's within touching distance until her palms are curving over Rachel's ass, fingers dipping beneath the cotton of her shorts. Quinn tugs her even closer, and Rachel goes with a smile, letting Quinn have her way—and have _Rachel_ in any way she wants.

Keeping her wife happy is a dirty, _dirty_ job, but Rachel is more than willing (and eager) to do it.

As many times as it takes for the next eighteen weeks and another eighty or so years after that.


End file.
